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On my lips.
I purposely plant a displeased scowl in the hopes that his gaze falls somewhere else. Thankfully, that tactic works since his unabashed stare cuts away from my lips to land on my eyes.
“They weren’t innocent,” he explains matter-of-factly after a pregnant pause. “They deserved getting the shit kicked out of them.”
“Are you saying what the press has written about you lately is true? That you believe violence to be the answer to everything?” I counter, unable to hide my disappointment in his answer.
“No. But sometimes words aren’t enough.”
“Diplomacy is always enough, Mr. Wilder,” I reply, making a distinction of using his last name. “And quite frankly, hearing you insist that it isn’t only confirms my reluctance to help you at all. How could I possibly think of taking you on as a client if, in doing so, I risk my other clients’ well-being and safety?”
“I’d never lay a hand on a woman,” he states with such passionate conviction that his body starts trembling a bit.
And there it is again—that split-second flash of pain and misery in his eyes. It’s the same one I’ve been obsessing over for days on end every time I pull up his bar fight video. And just like in the video, it goes away just as fast, leaving only a blank, empty stare in his eyes.
‘He’s lonely.’
Piper’s words come back to me again, followed by Becca’s earlier statement.
‘Aren’t you the one who always says everyone deserves a shot at love? That a life shared is better than going at it alone?’
I feel my defenses slowly lowering, yet I remain cautious nonetheless, needing more data to make a qualified assessment of the man sitting before me.
“So, you only hit men? Is that what you’re saying?”
His hands ball into fists before he realizes the knee-jerk reaction and shoves them in his jacket pockets instead.
“You’ve already made up your mind about me, so you tell me?” He shrugs.
“That’s not true. But I am trying to understand you. I’m trying to get a clear picture of who you are as a person and possibly as a partner.”
“Sounds to me you already know who I am, so why fucking bother?” he proclaims before getting up from his seat and turning towards the door.
Instead of letting him walk away like I should, I surprise myself by calling out his name.
“Nate, wait,” I blurt out, standing back up and walking towards him.
He turns around, his sullen expression demonstrating there might be more to him than meets the eye.
“You’re right. As much as I hate to admit it, I was being judgmental. And for that, I sincerely apologize. This usually isn’t how first meetings go. Please, let’s sit down and talk a little bit more. I promise I’ll keep an open mind if you promise to do the same.”
“Who says I didn’t already have one?” he grumbles.
“If this is going to work, then we need to be honest with each other. I saw how you looked at my awards. You think that my job is… well… for lack of a better word, ridiculous.”
Shame coats his stunning hazel eyes, confirming my suspicions.
“It’s okay. Not a lot of people understand what I do. And I’m starting to think that maybe not a lot of people understand you, either. I guess we have that in common.” I offer him a kind smile. “How about we take a seat and just talk for a bit and see if there is any way we can understand each other. If we can, then maybe I can help you after all. If not, then we can part ways amicably. No harm, no foul.”
His icy demeanor starts to thaw when he reads the sincerity in my eyes.
I let out a relieved exhale when Nate walks back to his seat while I go back to mine.
“How about I ask you a few questions, and we can take it from there?”
He nods, looking a bit uncomfortable.
“Have you ever been in a long-term, committed relationship?” I ask, not sparing a look at the list of questions I usually prepare for new clients.
